Skandinavisk Saga
by Valbonne
Summary: On a chilly night in the centre of Copenhagen, Mathias Køhler strides through the streets, expecting to spend the evening drinking to his heart's content at a bar.When he arrives, however, he finds himself in the unexpected company of Berwald Oxenstierna-whose methodical planning draws the Nordic representatives into a twisted plot stemming from a mere letter.
1. A Letter

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The winds rushed lustily over the frigid streets of Copenhagen. As the citizens hastily sought refuge in the comfort of their homes, the darkness brooded overhead. The long winter night consumed all below it, and a lone figure could be glimpsed through the blackness as it strolled along at a leisurely pace.  
"Mathias," a voice called out from a window, "aren't you headed in?"  
But Mathias Køhler shook his head. "_Nej_," he shouted in response with a wide beam. "The eve's just gettin' started!"  
And he quickened his pace as he neared a bar, its frosted windows glowing golden with the warm light on the interior.

* * *

"Mathias," Berwald Oxenstierna greeted the newcomer calmly. "Care f'r a drink?"  
"Don't I always?" the Dane grinned. "So, tell me, Ber. Whatcha been up to?"  
As the bartender served drinks, Berwald replied, "Sorting out th' p'litical affairs of m' country. Why d' ye take int'rest?" He eyed Mathias suspiciously.  
Mathias shrugged. "No particular reason... Bored, I suppose, with nothing else to talk about."

Just as Berwald was about to interject, the bell in the doorway jingled merrily to announce yet another windblown customer.  
"TINOOOO~" Mathias cried, his tone overenthusiastic. "What brings you here?"  
Adjusting the cap on his head, Tino Väinämöinen smiled. "I thought I'd stop in for a friendly visit. Berwald, what are you doing here? I never see you in Denmark."  
"'m invading h's territ'ry," Berwald nodded stoically at Mathias.  
"Oh, _are_ you?" Mathias barked, but Tino rested a hand on his shoulder.  
"Calm down," the Finn instructed him. "You're so excitable..."  
From where he sat, Berwald stared up at Tino. "P'litical reasons?" he asked.  
But Tino shook his head. "Really, just a visit." He regarded Berwald strangely for a moment, but decided against pressing for the real reason for the Swede's presence. "_Hei_," he chirped cheerily at the bartender, who promptly filled a glass in response. "Are Lukas and Emil coming, too?"  
"Seeing as this is a rather impromptu meeting, I'd say they aren't," Mathias answered with a shrug, "but who knows?"  
After a round of drinks and idle chatter passed between the Dane and the Finn, Berwald finally spoke up out of his own accord. "I r'ceived a troubling letter in th' mail yesterday," he announced in his blunt custom. "Lukas 'nd Emil may come, 'f they r'ceive m' notice 'n time."

"Ah, really?" Mathias leant in. "Why here? In Copenhagen? I mean, wouldn't you call a meeting in Stockholm or something? Even Malmö..."  
"You don't check y'r mail."  
It was more of a statement than a question, and Berwald's assumption held a great deal of truth to it.  
"Dude, c'mon..." Mathias protested lamely.  
Berwald stared solidly at the Dane. "You d' not call me 'dude.'"  
Tino suppressed a snort and took a sip of his beer.  
"Yeah, there are plenty of things I can't call you," Mathias muttered sullenly. "You're so much fun, it's unbearable."  
"I didn't get anything from you," Tino pointed out, watching Berwald curiously.  
His glasses flashing in the low light, Berwald gulped down a large swig of beer before replying, "I knew ye were headed here t'night."  
". . ." Tino's face paled. _Is... he... watching me?!_ Chills ran down his spine, and he broke eye contact with the intimidating Swede.

After a tense silence, Berwald resumed his speech. "Th' letter," he announced, withdrawing from his breast pocket a neatly folded slip of paper.  
"It's warm from your body heat," Mathias remarked, wrinkling his brow. "That's gross, man."  
Letting the comment go, Berwald started again. "I'd like t' know wh't this might be 'bout."  
"So would I..." Tino mumbled as his eyes grazed over the last line of the letter. "...so would I."  
"Lemme see," Mathias interrupted peskily, craning his neck to see over Tino's shoulder. "What in Copenhell...?!"

* * *

"What in the name of Mjallmir..?!" Lukas Bondevik spat, frowning at the enigmatic letter. "Ber, is this some kind of joke?"  
"I don't joke 'round," Berwald reminded the disbelieving Norwegian.  
"Well... it _does_ have an odd aura about it..." Lukas acknowledged, sensing unusual vibes from the paper.  
"_Mrrrr,_" agreed the small bird perched atop Emil's shoulder.  
"Oh, come on now," Emil chided the puffin, "don't tell me you think it's _haunted_."  
The bird puffed its feathers and glared at its owner. "_Mrrrrrr,_" it mocked him.  
Emil Steilsson let out a sigh, ignoring his feathered companion. Native to his homeland of Iceland it was, but it also had a tendency to work itself into unreasonably fickle moods.

Berwald, who had remained characteristically wordless while the Norwegian and Icelander read the letter, voiced his opinion on the matter. "Hist'ry r'peats itself, _ellerhur_?" was all he said before falling silent yet again.  
Mathias had been unusually quiet up until this point. Now, he, too, spoke up. "You... you don't think... it would ever happen again, do you...? Guys...?"  
Looking up with a troubled expression in his eyes, Tino glanced between his fellow Nordics. "...What, Mathias?"  
In a voice scarcely above a whisper, the Dane uttered the word that all were reluctant to hear: "_Ragnarok_...

_...the twilight of the gods_."


	2. Drinks

**All right...** This took too long to publish. I've had it written for a while, but didn't want to publish it, as not much is happening, and it's basically a transition to a _more eventful_ part of the story... Not much was planned to happen here, anyhow, but I just wanted a bit of humour before the plot starts to thicken. Strange things will start to happen after this. Besides... I thought I'd published it two months ago. D: *runs away and hides under desk* ~

* * *

"_Ahahahahaha!_" Mathias cackled at the dumbstruck expressions of the others, much to their annoyance. "I GOTCHAAAA!"

He clutched his stomach in hilarity as he continued to guffaw noisily at the faces of his fellow Nordics. "You- you guys- are-_ahehehe_-ridiculous." Straightening himself and regaining as much composure as was ever allotted to someone with his character, Mathias glanced around the bar to see his raucous din had called the attention of most everyone within. "_Hej_," he waved with a goofy grin at the stony-faced bartender. _He's used to me._

"...So," Tino broke the awkward silence uncertainly, "how are we supposed to interpret this, Ber? I don't really understand why you got us together."

"I think he's got a sense of humour," Mathias interjected, but filled his mouth with beer instead when Lukas shot him an icy glare.

"I don't understand, either," Emil admitted in support of Tino. "Care to explain?"

Berwald nodded and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "I don't know who sent 't," he said, "but 't isn't handwriting I rec'gnise."

Lukas said naught as he leant in once more to cautiously examine the paper. "I'd say we disregard it, but keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. I'm getting a strange feeling about this."

"Fair enough," Tino shrugged. "So, what now?"

"I say we all get drunk," Mathias cut in casually. "After all, this _is _a bar..."

* * *

"_Hnnnh..._" Berwald grumbled, "...I can't feel m' feet..."

"Me neither..." echoed a dazed Tino.

"_Ahahahaha... ahahahaha... ahehehehe..._" Mathias chuckled tipsily. "...You guys..."

Lukas and Emil had fallen into a silent stupor of sorts, and even Emil's puffin seemed wasted. "_Rrrrr..._" it gurgled drowsily, and its owner stroked its slick black plumes absently.

"Hey," Mathias piped up suddenly, "You guys wanna hear a joke?"

Frowning slightly, Lukas shook his head. "...Not really."

"Well, too bad. 'Cause I'm gonna tell it anyways. AHEHEHEHEHEHE..." the Dane cackled deviously.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

Mathias's eyes shone mischievously as he started. "So, what's the difference between a Swede and a mosquito?"

_Thwack._

"HEY!" Mathias rubbed the side of his head as he howled at Berwald. "_I didn't even get to the GOOD part..._"

Berwald's glasses glinted sinisterly in the light. "I know th' answ'r t' that," he growled. "That wasn't appreciated."

Sulking, the drunk Dane slouched in his seat and glared sullenly at the Swede.

"Well," Tino started, "it's late... And since there's nothing else we can do, I suggest we go home..."

"Good idea," Emil nodded.

And each Nordic headed to his own home... With the exception of Mathias, who chose to linger at the bar into the wee hours of the morning.


End file.
